Page 54 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva
My chest tightened again, and I blinked against the sting behind my eyes. Then I slammed the book shut and shoved it back onto the shelf.
It came down harder than I intended, the sound echoing in the room like a crack.
I breathed fast, trying to stop my racing heart, but it didn’t do much to make the fear and anxiety bubbling inside me go away.
Because no matter how many books I read, no matter how deep I got into other people’s words, there was nothing in this library to prepare me for this life.
Forhischild.
***
My reflection by nightfall looked nothing like me.
Golden silk wrapped around my frame, tailored to perfection in that subtle way Bratva wives were taught to dress.
My hair was styled into soft waves, giving me a refined look without being too flashy. My lips were painted in a pale wine shade. My eyes—tired, yet vacant.
The woman in the mirror was calm. Refined. Composed. But I was unraveling from the inside out.
I slowly changed my earrings, stalling. Staying hidden in the silence of the room, hoping it would ease the chaos in my mind.
It didn’t.
When I finally stepped outside, the air was colder than I’d expected.
Matvey was already waiting in the car, one arm draped over the backseat, a phone clutched in the other hand. He glanced up the moment I emerged, and his eyes traveled over me in a slow, deliberate sweep.
His lip flickered. “Not bad,” he murmured.
Resentment waltzed through me.Not bad?I was breaking apart inside, and all he could offer was a compliment that wasn’t any better than a shrug.
I inhaled deeply, forcing myself not to react. I just got in the passenger seat and shut the door.
The motor growled to life, and we rolled through the gates in silence.
I flattened my hand on my stomach once again, then clenched my fist in my lap.
***
The anniversary was held in one of the smaller Yezhov mansions, large enough for the front of a magazine, with enough gold trim and crystal chandeliers to make my eyes ache.
The atmosphere vibrated with laughter, the scent of expensive perfume, and soft violin music drifting from the far corner.
I smiled when I should, let familiar hands stroke my arms, and greeted whoever Matvey introduced me to.
But my head was a blur.
The air was too heavy, my skin too tight. I excused myself for a moment to use the restroom, and when I returned, I just blended in with the other guests until my eyes fell on Matvey.
He was across the room, crouched beside the bar. Not speaking to a guest, but to a child.
Damian and Elena’s son stood in front of him, holding a toy car in each hand, jabbering about something too quickly to follow.
And Matvey…Matvey was smiling.
Not the smirk he used when he wanted to make me angry. Not the cruel-edged smile that came before his threats.
This was softer.
